


Knot by Knot

by 401



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Anger, Angst, Bucky Barnes Feels, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Meltdown, PTSD, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Steve Feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-15
Updated: 2015-09-15
Packaged: 2018-04-20 23:28:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4806257
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/401/pseuds/401
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky loses it, Steve finds it for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Knot by Knot

“Buck…Bucky,” Steve tottered nervously, sticking to the outskirts of the small bedroom, “Buck you need to calm down.”

It was rare that Steve saw Bucky this enraged. Anger for Bucky was usually a few hours of pouting, turned backs and one word responses that frustrated, but did not worry Steve so much. Bucky was quieter now, and it was a fact that Steve had forced himself to accept since his partner’s liberation from Hydra.

He still missed the old, uninhibited laughter and toothy grins that he never saw, but the new Bucky was more than enough. He was safe and he was present; that was all that mattered to Steve.

It didn’t change the fact that he was also volatile, and after weeks of the all too familiar quiet moodiness, the pressure of spending every day in a relentless battle with his own head fighting instinct and trauma, would bubble to the surface explosively.

“Listen to my voice,” Steve tried to level himself whilst passively and tactically angling his body to take the blows from Bucky’s forehead and fists against his chest, instead of letting them hit the walls in sprinklings of plaster.

“I CAN’T!” Bucky’s voice was a tortured growl against Steve’s t-shirt.

Steve wrapped his arms like a restraint around Bucky’s shoulders, grunting as Bucky toppled forward, pushing them both into the wall with a dull crunch of ruined drywall. His breath was coming in rough sobs.

Steve did not know what had set Bucky off. He had been like this when Steve got home. His knuckles on his flesh hand were scraped near enough to the bone and the metal ones were whirring fretfully. Steve winced as he squeezed Bucky’s trembling form and turned the injured hand over in his own, surveying the damage. Bucky did not seem to react to pain much, especially when he was like this. ‘You could shoot him in the arm and he’d clap’, Bruce had teased after removing four bullets from Bucky’s leg with no anaesthesia.

“There we go,” Steve sighed, flattening dark tendrils of hair at the back of Bucky’s head with a firm, flat palm, “That more like it, eh?”

Bucky nodded foggily into Steve’s shoulder before pulling away with a look of humiliation, staring at his feet and walking to the other side of the room to look out of the window at the dull, rain-blurred skyline of a tired Washington at midnight.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky’s voice was rough and tear-battered, “I do this to you too much.”

The soldier gestured resentfully at the series of scuffs and dents in the wall. Bucky would spend the next few days obsessively sanding, plastering and painting that wall to perfection, erasing all memory of the outburst. Steve would reassure him countless times that it was okay if there were a few bumps or notches, telling him to eat something when he’d been at it all day, but he would not stop till it was all put right.

“I’ve seen worse,” Steve shrugged, walking over to Bucky and threading his arms around the soldier’s waist, pressing his lips to his and kissing deeply.

Bucky’s lips were hot and salty from crying and his cheeks were damp. Steve brushed his tongue over the bottom one, feeling the small rough patch that was endlessly gnawed at day in day out. Bucky’s mother had used to say that he would probably chew it straight off. It was a habit that had stuck for seventy years.

“I just wished you’d tell me _before_ you get angry,” Steve started to sway from side to side, moving his lips from Bucky’s mouth to his neck, “Then I could actually make it better.”  


He knew Steve was right. He also knew that half of the time he did not know that he was angry until he was knee deep in stomach coiling rage that he could not control. The images of being beaten and humiliated, held beyond his will would cloud his aching head and turn his vision crimson. It was over then. The subconscious ability to switch of logic kicked in and fury prevailed.

“You are making it better,” Bucky muttered as Steve ran slow fingers up his sides, kissing calmly and slowly. There was no rush, they had all the time in the world. He was not going to lose him again.

This thought calmed Bucky further, and he let Steve take his weight completely, leaning into the warm, broad strength of his shoulders and sighing out the tension in his own into the cologne-scented cotton of his t-shirt.

Knot by knot, Bucky’s fists uncurled, and knot by knot, Steve got closer to fixing him completely.

 


End file.
